Cotton Candy Baby
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: House. Wilson. Baby. From the nutter who brought you STUMBLE. HouseWilson friendship. Pointless fluff. Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow. So, this idea has been rolling around in my head for a little while and I finally started the story. I hope you like it. It won't be near as angsty as **Stumble**. It's a bundle of fluff and self-indulgence. That's all. Haha.

No slash intended! But damn, aren't House and Wilson cute as pie together?

Enjoy! Please read and review with details!

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_Chapter 1_

* * *

Greg House tipped his head back in laughter at the TV just as the phone started ringing. Damn it. It was 9 PM. He was supposed to have peace in the evenings, undisturbed by the human race. Fuck it, the person could leave a message. He faced the TV again, sipped his beer. The phone rang again. It was definitely not the hospital because they would page him. He looked at the pager sitting on his piano bench. Silent. No lights. The phone kept ringing.

"Hi. You've reached Greg House. I'm not here, so leave a message."

He didn't pay any attention to his drawl from the answering machine. It beeped.

"Greg?" That was Wilson's voice, Wilson's sigh. House looked back at the phone. "Listen, I really need your help. Something's happened, and I don't know what to do."

By then, House was already limping quickly toward the phone.

"James?"

"Greg." Relief flooded into House's ear.

"What is it?"

"I – I don't know. I just – I need to come over."

"Okay," said Greg uncertainly. It wasn't often that Wilson sounded this needy or troubled. He skipped the sarcasm. "I'll be waiting."

The phone clicked off. House hung up, wondering what could possibly be up, while Wheel of Fortune started in the background. He sat anxiously on the couch, staring at the tube, until the doorbell finally rang, upon which he pushed himself up and limped to the door.

"Hi," James huffed, stepping in and past his friend. House looked after him, as he shut the door, and noticed that Wilson was lugging a baby carrier around. The oncologist headed into the dining room and House followed warily, unsure of what to make of this. Wilson set the baby carrier on the table, while House flipped the light on. As he drew near, he saw that there was indeed a baby sleeping in the carrier. Cute, actually. Standard chubby face, angelic quality, slobbery lips, glowing skin.

"Uh. Okay," he said.

Wilson pulled a chair out and sat down, sighing with his head in his hands. House waited a moment.

"James?" he started. "Do you plan on telling me what this means?"

Wilson lifted his head. "It's a baby."

House's blue eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he gave a slow nod against his cane. "Yeah… I can see that. But why do you have it? And why did you bring it here?"

Wilson buried his face again. His voice was muffled.

"Excuse me?" said House. Wilson straightened.

"She's mine," he moaned.

It wasn't often that something startled Greg House, but tonight was an exception.

"Huh?"

"She's mine," Wilson repeated, staring miserably at the sleeping infant.

"What do you mean, she's yours?" said House. "You never mentioned getting Julie pregnant, unless there's some physical secret you've been hiding from me all these years."

"No," Wilson groaned. "She's not Julie's. She's mine."

It clicked. House looked at the floor. "Oh."

"Oh," Wilson lamented. House pulled out the chair next to him and settled down.

"Wow. You've really fucked up this time," he said.

"Thanks," Wilson replied bitterly.

"So – you're just now telling me about this? The kid's gotta be at least five months old."

"I didn't know until tonight!"

Confusion sprawled over House's face again. Wilson sighed at him, suffering to explain.

"Her mother – left her. On my fucking doorstep. Like some fucking movie. I haven't even seen the woman in over a year. She didn't say a word. And now she dumps her kid on me and disappears."

"You had an affair two years into your marriage?" House said. "Christ, James. Julie isn't that bad looking."

"Shut up," said Wilson. "Please, shut up."

He rubbed his eyes in anguish.

"Who was she?" House asked.

"Some woman I met in a bar one night. I had a fight with Julie; it was stupid. And then we kept seeing each other for three months, I don't even know why. She said she was moving to a different state, I thought it was over. She never said a thing about this. Oh, God."

House stared blankly, thinking, blue eyes clear in the chandelier light.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Greg? I've got no address, no phone number. I'm stuck with this. The only thing to do is – drop her off at the orphanage."

House stared at him in disbelief. "You're going to leave your kid in an orphanage for some white trash family to pick up? She'll be molested before she's fifteen. You can't."

"And what do you suggest, House? I just go home and shove her at Julie and say 'Here, it's my bastard kid, let's be a family'?" Wilson scoffed and shook his head.

House looked bewildered, eyes searching for answers.

"The marriage is dead as it is," Wilson said, steadily. "I can't pretend that it's going to last more than a few years, no matter how much I want to think I can still fix it. Even if it were going to last, how the hell would I explain this to Julie? I can't. I have to get rid of the kid. There's no other way."

House sighed through pursed lips.

"Yes, there is."

Wilson looked over at him.

"You could keep her here."

Wilson stared blankly at him for a minute, before his face gave a twitch.

"Are you high?" he asked House. "Wait, don't answer that."

House grinned. Wilson buried his face again.

"That's insane," he mumbled down into his lap. "That's beyond insane."

"Why? It could work. Who ever visits me here besides you? We could make it work. It'd be cake."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Wilson snapped. "This is you we're talking about! And me! What the hell do we know about parenting? We're at work three-fourths of the day! You don't have anywhere to put her. How are we supposed to keep her a secret for the rest of our lives? You're nuts!"

"She's your daughter," House said. Wilson looked away from him. House turned his attention to the baby.

"What's her name?" he asked. Wilson looked up at her.

"Uh – Wendy. That's what her birth certificate says."

"Wendy? As in the burger place?"

Wilson glared at him.

"Hm. Wendy Wilson. Well, I'll be. That has a ring to it, don't you think?"

Wilson sighed. "This is not happening."

"Hate to say I told you so, but they did make condoms for a reason."

"Thanks, mother."

House shrugged. "Well. Guess I'll have to run to the store then. Babies don't sleep forever."

He pushed himself up and turned away, heading back out into the hall where the TV was audible.

"Wait!" Wilson said. House stopped and peered at him. "You're serious? You really want to keep her here?"

House paused for a moment and then shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, why not? Watching TV is always more fun when you have company."

"God. We are so screwed."

"Hey," said House. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out."

"There's nothing to figure out, Greg. This is an atomic bomb waiting to go off."

"Well, at least it's a cute atomic bomb."

Wilson managed to smile.

"Hell, at least it's Friday. We have the weekend to buy all her baby accessories."

Wilson shook his head, still not believing this. He didn't know what was more surreal: him suddenly having a baby or House actually wanting to take partial responsibility for it.

"This could be fun, James," House warned, hobbling away again. "Watching Sesame Street and picking out girly outfits. Hey, when's her birthday? Any instructions at all?"

Wilson reached carefully into the carrier and pulled out the manila folder tucked there.

"January 28th. That makes her a little over five months. Cherie left a list of things." He handed the scrap of paper to House, who had shuffled back over, now with his keys. "I think there's brand names of food on there."

"Cherie? You did a girl named Cherie? What are you, twenty?"

"Shut up."

"Let me see that," House said, indicating the folder. "Damn. This woman is good. Birth certificate, vaccination chart, list of all past doctors visits. And the kid likes "Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins. Well, it's still early, we have time to fix her musical preferences."

Wilson grinned. House started to leave again.

"All right. I'll be back in half an hour," he called. Wilson heard him shut the door. Wheel of Fortune was still on.

* * *

When House returned, Wilson was on the couch watching the news. The baby was still asleep in her carrier on the coffee table.

"Quiet kid," said House. "This'll be sweet."

Wilson smiled. House wasn't surprised the kid wasn't very fussy. James was a pretty quiet person himself. He dumped the brown paper grocery bag on the kitchen counter, and Wilson got up to see what he'd brought.

"Hey," said House. "You think she wants a beer?"

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You're right, that's lesson number fifty-eight. Lesson 1: eating habits."

As he pulled out the things from the bag, Wilson watched and his eyes softened, hands on his hips.

"I got bottles, pacifiers. They didn't stock the formula on the list, so I bought four different kinds (because you never know what women like), diapers, baby powder, wipes, baby shampoo and conditioner (for those luxurious curls), soap, and this beauty…."

A small, stuffed dog emerged, caught in House's spindly fingers. Wilson's smile stretched. House looked at him finally.

"What?" he said. Wilson just kept smiling and shook his head.

"I thought you hated the world," he said.

"I told you," House replied. "People don't bug me until they get teeth."

"So she's got another six months or so, huh?"

"Well, she's related to you, right? Maybe I can make an exception – an extension."

Wilson smiled. House passed him and approached Wendy.

"Yes," he started, lowering the dog into the carrier, leaving it at the little feet poking up from the blanket. "This girl and I are going to have a long-term relationship. Which is a damn miracle, so you should be flattered." He spoke down at the sleeping infant, who remained oblivious to him.

"Where's Julie?" he murmured to Wilson.

"She's away on business. Won't be back until Monday."

House smirked. "Perfect. Tomorrow, we can go get some furniture." He returned to the kitchen and pulled out a pot, filled it with tap water, placed it on the stove, switched it on. The light next to the knob lit up, a lazy red-orange.

"Where are you going to put it?" Wilson said, hands on hips again.

House shrugged. "Well – there's always the guest room. Actually, that would work out perfectly. See? My lack of a social life really has been a good thing."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"We can get rid of everything in there and set up a crib and maybe a dresser or two. Good thing I never did much with that room."

House had his hands on his hips now, cane propped up against the nearest cabinet. He looked back at the pot. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface from the bottom.

"We could paint it," Wilson suggested.

"Yeah, sure."

"I think a soft pink would work."

"Pink?" House wrinkled his nose. "God. I can't lose that much dignity. How about we go with something less female. Blue?"

"She _is_ a girl, you know."

"Fine. Lavender. I won't go any farther than that."

Wilson shrugged and grinned at House using the word _lavender_. "Sounds good to me. Though I think she'd like pink better."

"She can have a new, pink blanket, how's that? Compromise: it's a beautiful thing."

House cleaned out a bottle, filled it with formula, twisted the cap on tight, and put it in the pot of hot water.

He popped a Vicodin and washed it down with a glass of scotch that had been sitting on the counter, half-empty. Wilson pursed his lips, silencing protest.

"Wow. This means we can't watch porn here anymore," said House. Wilson chuckled.

"I think we'll survive."

"Yeah – because there are always the VCRs at work."

Wilson smirked. House sighed.

"I'm becoming a new man," he said wistfully. "All because of the cute atomic bomb. How touching."

He tapped the bottle with his fingers. Wilson bowed his head and shook it.

"I can't believe this," he said.

"Better start soon," said House. "She'll throw a fit sooner or later. She's a female infant, it's just a matter of time."

"And I can't believe you!" Wilson ignored. House stared at him, leaning on his cane once more.

"Do I really seem that much of a sociopath?" he asked in his bored tone.

"You have no idea how big this is, do you?" said Wilson. "You're committing yourself to this kid for the next seventeen years. And she's not even yours."

House hushed him. "God, James, do you want to scar the kid already?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, Greg. Are you sure you want to do this? I can take her down to the orphanage right now. The sisters will take good care of her. You can go back to the store and return all that crap and use the money for a six-pack from the gas station."

House gazed at him relentlessly, the weight of responsibility in his chest. He had always believed himself to be insane. He did now without a doubt.

"James – she's yours. _Yours_. Do you get that? Do you really believe you have the balls to drive her down to the orphanage and leave her there? I wouldn't bet my condoms on it."

Wilson smirked, but the look in his eyes didn't fade.

"You've gotten yourself into some shit," House continued. "But maybe it doesn't have to be as bad as you think. We're not getting any younger. We've lived a good while and what do we have to show for it? Expensive cars and salaries that could feed a small, third world country. And I hate to ruin my hard ass reputation, but this could be our chance to mean something, instead of just passing on as two more idiots of the human race."

Wilson shook his head, eyes shining. "Wow," he said. "You are really, really high."

"And besides," said House, wondering if Wilson was right. "Even if you _could_ drive her down and leave her with the ladies that wear the funny hats, (which you can't), I couldn't let you. It would bug me forever, and I like sleep."

Wilson smiled.

"So that's settled," said House. "She stays."

"And life as we know it is officially over," said Wilson.

House shut off the stove and lifted the bottle out of the pot, squeezing some droplets onto his wrist. Satisfied that it wasn't too hot or too cold, he limped past Wilson and toward the baby, who had conveniently woken up and started to fuss.

"Ah, we meet at last," said House, as Wilson followed him. They fell back into the couch, and House sighed to be off his leg. Wendy threatened to cry, her cheeks suddenly reddened in upset.

"Hold this," House said, handing Wilson the bottle. He reached out with both hands, the only sign of caution in his blue eyes. She wriggled in the air as he lifted her out and cradled her to him at once. "There," he said, muscles relaxing once she lay in his arm safely. House stared at her and Wilson stared with him and gave him back the bottle. House offered her the bottle carefully, and she latched on to it with her rosebud mouth greedily. House smiled. Wilson mimicked him. Her hands barely fit around the bottle, as she drank in satisfaction.

"Easily satisfied," House said softly. "I think I'll like this gal."

"We should monitor her for any signs of allergic reaction," said Wilson.

"She'll be fine," said House.

"So," he started, voice so soft that Wilson didn't recognize it. "I'm House."

Wendy suckled on in absolute tranquillity.

"And this is James – your dad."

She stared at Wilson, who looked as if he had melted in that precise moment. Yeah, thought House, she's definitely here to stay. Silence passed on for a long moment, baby staring from House to Wilson, and both men looking at her.

"She's got your eyes," House murmured.

"No, she doesn't," Wilson replied. "She doesn't look anything like me."

Greg looked at the baby, and the baby looked at Greg. Both were unusually still.

"She's got your eyes," House repeated. It almost scared him – how those little eyes were mirrors of his best friend's. He didn't think Wilson heard him because he received no response. House had the feeling that this would be a lot like the monster truck show he had taken Cameron to – cotton candy, screaming, adrenaline, and near-death experiences.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is kinda short. And pointless. But fuck, this whole story is pointless, isn't it?

To all the readers of **Stumble**, I'd like to apologize for that fiasco of a last chapter I posted a few days ago. It just sucks. I make the same mistakes over and over again. Fucking self-indulgence of my sap-fetish that obliterates the canon characters. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have written it that way. I shouldn't have posted it.

I should just quit writing. There isn't any fucking point.

Please read and review. If it sucks, tell me why. I like to feel worthless.

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Chapter 2

When House woke up, an infomercial about an instant hair removal product was on TV. It was still dark, but the kitchen light and lamp were on, just as he'd left them. He squinted around groggily, peered at Wilson's watch. 4:23. He was surprised the baby hadn't woken up again hours ago. They typically got hungry every three hours at this age. He blinked and looked at her. She slept on in that seductively adorable way that babies boasted. He turned his head carefully and looked at James, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. House smiled.

"So that's where you get it from," he murmured to Wendy. He didn't want to wake James – or the baby, for that matter. But he didn't know how long he could sleep on the couch before giving himself cramped muscles and a numb ass. On the other hand, he hadn't had such a warm sleep since Stacy had been around.

Wilson shifted against him. The baby's lips were puckered and kissable, shiny with drool. Her breaths made the faintest sound through her nose that House was somehow aware of. He looked back to the TV's quiet babble and sighed. What a mess, he pondered, shaking his head. What a mess he'd gotten himself into.

But if things continued like this – warm and close and constant – he thought he could manage somehow. He didn't know how he would juggle work and Wendy or how Wilson would tiptoe around his wife or how they would keep this a secret forever, but he figured he had time to sort it all out. Why burden himself now when he didn't have to deal with it yet? All he had to think about now was what sort of nursery he would set up and how well he could take care of her on his own, when Wilson was away.

He knew Wilson. He had seen the look on his face. Wilson was in love. And that meant he wouldn't be too patient, he wouldn't be able to stand long periods away from his new, one-true-love. It meant his days as Julie's husband were numbered. House wanted to laugh. She would think he was having another affair. Wait 'til she found out about this. He could picture her face – priceless.

Julie was okay, he guessed. He had never disliked her more than he disliked 99 percent of the human race. But Julie, like all of Wilson's wives and girlfriends, always ended up making James unhappy – stressed out, frustrated, and lonely. He didn't like it. Maybe he had nothing against the women themselves, but he didn't like to see James unhappy. And by now, Julie had definitely reached that stage, however unintentionally. He bet James made her unhappy too. The marriage wasn't good for either of them, and House was glad it would take lesser time to dissolve now. It wouldn't be pretty, though. He knew it would be much harder on Wilson now than if Wendy had never come into the picture. He made a mental note to be extra-supportive and cut back on the snark.

He had beat Julie. He grinned, mind bouncing off of the humane mental note and to this one. He had just unofficially beat Mrs. Wilson. He and Wendy. House chuckled to himself. He wasn't trying to be mean. He just found it amusing. This is what was going to make James happy again, perhaps for good – this insane arrangement that they had just spontaneously created. There was no way Julie could make up for it now. She was beat. The marriage was beat. And any other woman Wilson was currently seeing was beat too. Old Man Cripple and Baby Cakes had kicked ass. House laughed.

Wilson stirred, stretched, opened one eye at a time. He looked at House sleepily. House grinned.

"What's funny?" James whispered. House shook his head and told him it was nothing.

"God, what time it is?" James said, squinting at his watch and scratching his head. House suddenly missed the warmth on his shoulder but didn't say any thing. "4:45?" Wilson groaned.

"So what?" said House. "Go back to sleep."

It was gentle and unlike him. Wilson rubbed his eye and wanted to smile.

"I should go home," he said.

"Why?"

Wilson shrugged. "I can't sleep on your couch forever."

"Yes, you can. You have a thousand nights before. And what are you going home to anyway?"

"My bed."

House rolled his eyes and looked at the baby. Wilson did too.

"She didn't wake up again, huh?" he said. House shook his head.

"Nope. She's a good kid. You're lucky that genetics work the way they do."

Wilson grinned. "You know, you really haven't given Cherie any credit."

"Mommy isn't here anymore," said House. "She dumped her life on us. We get all the credit."

Wilson shook his head this time but made no verbal protest.

"I'm gonna go," he said. "I need to think about this."

"You're leaving me with your kid?"

Wilson gave a rueful smile. "It won't be the first time."

"I know. But you don't have to now. Stay."

House didn't try hard to sound demanding rather than pleading. He just wanted Wilson's company, despite Wendy's presence and the TV. It tugged at Wilson's lips. He held out his arms. House eyed him both gladly and reluctantly. He finally shifted out of his position, giving the baby to Wilson and trying hard not to wake her, but she stirred nonetheless. Wilson hushed her whining, tentative about holding her. It was his first time. That tug at his lips came again. House averted his gaze and gave him privacy, stretching as much as the couch and the coffee table allowed, trying to get up. He grunted once he was on his feet, picking up his cane and shutting off the TV. Wendy fussed despite Wilson's soothing.

"I think she's hungry again," he said.

"Probably needs a change, too," House added, limping stiffly into the kitchen. "I'll make her another bottle. Here." He handed the unopened diaper bag to Wilson, along with the wipes. "Take her into the guest bathroom. I won't be long."

Wilson didn't bother replying. He turned and struggled toward the right hallway, trying to hold Wendy, bag, and plastic can. House scratched his head and turned on the stove.

Once changed, Wendy didn't fuss as much, but she stayed awake and hungry. Wilson waited on House's bed, too scared to let her lie flat for some reason he didn't know and held her instead. He had lived through the first diaper. It hadn't been that bad. Maybe he could do this.

"All right, kid." House limped in, bottle in hand. "This better last you another three or four hours. It's a Saturday, and I need to sleep in."

He handed Wilson the bottle and let him feed her for the first time, while he plopped on the bed next to the oncologist. This was a night of firsts. She drank silently, and Wilson blinked at her in admiration.

"Still want to take her nun land?" House asked. Wilson grinned. House sighed.

"I want to go back to sleep," he griped. Wilson didn't need to voice his agreement.

"I guess I'll go back down to my couch once she's through," he said. "Should I put her back in the carrier?"

"You can have half the bed," said House. "You move around much?"

"No," said Wilson, tug moving to his heart now, while faint surprise touched his face.

"Good. Neither do I."

They ended up sleeping in House's bed, baby between them and content enough that she didn't wake until after House did around 8:30. Relief tingled in him when he found that nothing had happened to her, and he wondered at how he was already growing attached. Or maybe it was just his doctor's instincts. He watched Wilson sleep behind her, watched them both at the same time. Maybe not.

He let Wilson sleep with his baby, while he returned to the kitchen and put on some coffee, turned on the morning news. He could get used to this, he realized, as disturbing for him as that was. He shouldn't want to, but he did. He'd never tell. Over his dead body. He watched the news without really listening to it and sipped his coffee. For a brief moment, a desire to never go back to work passed through him. He was really losing it. He popped some Vicodin.

Saturday. Usually, he spent it alone, eating cereal around noon and watching cartoons or wrestling. He'd look over his latest case, play some piano, run to the grocery store, pay off any bills he had lying around. Petty stuff. But not today. Today, he had nursery shopping with Wilson. God. His life had come to this. He thought that maybe they could go out to brunch in an hour or two, once Wilson and Wendy were set. He realized they needed to buy a stroller, too, and more baby clothes.

He realized he was a man with a corvette and a baby.

He shook his head. They better take Wilson's car today.

He looked at the clock. 9:28. He set his empty mug on the counter and hobbled back to his bedroom. Wilson and Wendy hadn't moved from where he'd left them and still looked just as peaceful and sweet. He stopped and looked for a while, sighed. He didn't want to wake them up, but at the same time, brunch and shopping awaited. He also knew James didn't like to sleep in too late, which meant past eleven. He limped over to Wilson's side of the bed, stopped again. He watched Wilson's form rise and fall with his breaths, the curve of his shoulder and his neck, his mussed hair. His hand was near Wendy's.

"James," House whispered. His hand touched Wilson's shoulder. "James."

"Mm," Wilson sounded.

"Come on. It's almost ten."

Wilson shifted, peered at House through one, bleary eye. He turned back again.

"Okay. Hold on," he said. House straightened, wanted to shake his head. Apparently, his bed was magic.

Wilson waited another five minutes before moving again and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He rolled onto his back and stared up at House, then at Wendy.

"Guess we didn't crush her," he said.

"We're the best," said House.

"Ten?"

"Yup. Right about now."

Wilson half-groaned as he sat up, rubbed his face and the back of his neck.

"So eager to shop?" he asked, bemused. House was turning into a woman, and it was hilarious.

"I thought we'd get something to eat first – better than Lucky Charms."

Wilson grinned. "Okay. But I need a shower. You got any clothes I could borrow?"

House opened up a dresser drawer and threw an old T-shirt at him, one of the many he owned. This one was faded black, standard for House, and read _The Who_. Wilson thanked him and eased out of bed, careful not disturb his princess. He quirked a strange smile at his own thoughts. His princess? He'd never thought that about a woman before…

"Got some jeans, too," said House, as Wilson went into the bathroom. "One of my many cloned pairs."

He sat on the bed, mattress still warm from Wilson's body and imprint left on the cover. He watched Wendy sleep as the sound of the shower sprung to life, sounding distant. She was a pretty thing. She would be gorgeous one day, a knockout in heels with Wilson's winning smile. And Wilson's eyes. The more and more he thought about Wendy, the more her anonymous mother faded from the picture. This was Wilson's baby. Even less than twenty-four hours since she'd appeared, she was Wilson's. Even if Wilson didn't feel it yet. And House supposed, somewhere in a deep cavern of his heart, that she was his, too. He would never say so because it was unlike him and because it would seem vain – but if he was going to keep her here, at his place, until further notice and take half of the responsibility for her, alongside Wilson, then he probably wasn't blowing things out of proportion by feeling entitled to her.

The shower blasted steadily, and Wilson didn't make a sound. House blinked away from his thoughts and looked again at Wendy. She slept without a care in the world, familiar eyes shut and lips puckered and chest moving and feet still in her pink socks. House almost smiled at them – those little feet. He had to admit that they were cute. He reached out and drew the blanket over her, but she didn't wake. The water silenced. He heard the pop of the shower door and Wilson's wet footsteps.

What would she really be like – this baby? Who would she grow up to be? What would she think and what would she like? Would she like him? Would she talk to him? Would she ask him questions about life and medicine and her mother? Would she like spending time with him? What would her laugh sound like? Would she – love him?

He shook the thoughts from his brain. He was getting way ahead of himself. This wasn't his baby. This was Wilson's. What did it matter if she liked him? What did it matter if she was interested in him? What did it matter if she – loved him?

And yet he pondered how, if she was anything like her father, she would end up doting on him endlessly. He smiled.

"So where are we going?" Wilson asked, coming out of the bathroom, shaking a towel through his wet hair. He was wearing the T-shirt and a miscellaneous pair of House's jeans.

"Uh," House said. "There's this – place up on Cedar that should work. They make great omelets and decent coffee."

"Oh, yeah, I know what you're talking about. It's like a café, bistro thing. Cool."

"But first," said House. "We need a stroller."

* * *

After stroller hunting (during which they obsessively inspected every kind they looked at), House and Wilson drove to the Cedar St. Bistro, in time to make it for a late brunch. Wilson drove his Mercedes, while House lounged in shotgun, Wendy having another bottle before falling back asleep. He watched the shops and streets pass by in the Saturday morning light, while Wilson glanced at him and baby every now and then, smiling. House had popped a jazz CD in the player, and smooth piano guided the tires through town.

They sat outside at a table for two under the awning, drinking coffee. Wilson flipped through the paper, while House finished his ham-and-cheese omelet, peering into the stroller at Wendy every now and then. Neither of them noticed what few people passed by, smiling smugly at their trio. Wilson munched on a piece of toast, skimming some obscure article in the paper.

"So," he started. "Do you want to get paint next or furniture?"

"I was thinking clothes," House replied, and Wilson peered at him. "There's a store down the street that should have something suitable."

"Okay," Wilson shrugged, sipping at his lukewarm coffee. He chucked out a few dollar bills as a tip and folded the newspaper. "I'll start the car, then."

"Why don't we walk?" House suggested. Wilson shot him a dubious look.

"Walk?"

"Yeah. Like I said, it's only down the street. Beats loading up the stroller again."

They left the bistro and Wilson's Mercedes and headed away from the sun. Wilson pushed the stroller, while House limped beside him, and they strolled casually down the sidewalk. More people smiled at them unnoticed, until Wilson caught one of them and smiled back, confused.

"Are you sure you want lavender?" Wilson asked.

"What else do you suggest? Black?"

Wilson snorted.

"Actually, that would be cool. I should paint my whole house black. Fits my _soul_."

"You are not painting her room black."

"Guess it would make her predestined for a gothic adolescence, huh?"

Wilson thought. "I still think pink would fit best."

House sighed. "Pink? I'm a middle-aged bachelor, James. And I've already got an anti-pink, anti-sweet, anti-everything attitude as it is."

"Well – now you're a middle-aged bachelor with a baby for a house mate."

"It's all your fault."

"I was thinking – something bright but soft at the same time."

House blinked. "James. Pink is pink. We're men. We're not supposed to get into shades and hues and all that technical crap."

Wilson shrugged.

"So, what? Salmon? Magenta? Rose?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh, right, like I'd paint the kid's room _salmon_."

"Well, hell, it's pink, isn't it?"

Wilson sighed. "Maybe we should just go with lavender."

"You can figure it out at the store. They've got every color imaginable. Somehow they made a seven-band rainbow into six zillion shades with names trying too hard to be clever."

They ended up buying four buckets of Cotton Candy Pink, and House grumbled all the way back to the car. They'd bought her a sufficiently cute wardrobe before that, complete with matching socks, shoes, and a couple of hats Wilson had insisted on. They'd debated over whether to dress her in one of the outfits, since she'd surely been wearing her current clothes for over a day. Wilson said they should, House said they should put everything through the wash first. House won in the end.

They put the paint cans in Wilson's Mercedes, quiet during the walk back from the store. Women smiled with their backs to them, walking in the opposite direction, and the two doctors never picked up on it. They loaded up into the Mercedes and drove to a different street for the furniture. It took them another hour to decide on something, but they finally chose a set of white-painted wood, including crib, dresser, rocking chair, and full-body mirror. House grumbled about his manhood. Wilson grinned and said it would look lovely with the pink walls. The Italian cashier eyed them suspiciously as he ran Wilson's debit card through the machine.

"Oh, my God!"

House and Wilson looked over at the shrill exclamation. It had come from a plump, mousy woman who had just entered the store. She beamed at Wendy, who slept in her stroller, and lifted her hands and leaned in to coo and gush over the infant.

"Why, she's just a piece of pie!"

She was from the South.

"Uh, actually, she's a baby," said House, annoyed. Wilson smiled nervously.

"She's just as precious as anything!"

"She's also sleeping," said House. He didn't like strangers near Wendy. It was an unexpected feeling. Wilson wanted to elbow him. The woman looked up at House and Wilson with a toothy grin.

"Is she yours?"

"No, we're just taking her along for fun," House said. "Babies make the best shopping companions."

Wilson blushed a little but held his tongue.

"So which one of you does she belong to?"

House glared at her. Could she not get a clue? Why wouldn't she go _away_?

"Uh, she's mine," Wilson offered meekly. She smiled at him, while House pulled Wendy's stroller toward him.

"Is that all you want to know or should we give you our social security numbers and a brief sexual history?"

Her face fell.

* * *

"You know, that really wasn't necessary," said Wilson, driving down the road. "She was just trying to be nice."

"She was annoying," House said, as he fed Wendy. "Do you just let anyone go up to your kid? What if that cow had been a pedophile or a kidnapper or a bum with untreated tuberculosis?"

"Oh, come on," said Wilson. "You're overreacting."

"I'm looking out for her best interests."

Wilson rolled his eyes but thought it was cute. What was Wendy doing to House? What was she doing to himself?

"Want something to eat?" he sighed.

"Maybe just a beer," said House.

"How about a smoothie? It's healthier." Wilson neared a Keva Juice.

"You're daddy's going doctor on me, how cute," House said to Wendy. Wilson shook his head.

They sipped on their smoothies as Wilson drove toward home (and he mused over how he had begun to think of House's place as home). When they arrived, House took Wendy inside, while Wilson began to unload the car. It had never occurred to House before how many psychos were running around just waiting for someone to leave valuables in an open car. He wasn't taking any chances.

He heard Wendy's cry as he limped toward his open door with the last can of paint and felt the edges of his sour mood melt when he saw Wilson cooing to her, holding her against his shoulder.

"I'm going to change her, hold on a second," said the oncologist, making his way down the hall and toward the bathroom. House nodded and dropped the paint can. He sighed. God.

Cotton Candy Pink.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter is shorter than I'd like it to be, but I think if I added anymore, it'd just be useless bubble wrap. Hope it's all right.

No slash intended. Please Read and Review. Thank you to all of my supporters.

**AEW**: Thank you for trying to give me the link, but disables links so I couldn't see your picture. Could you please email it to me instead? Thank you.

* * *

_Chapter 3_

* * *

The walls were cotton candy pink. They gleamed wet in the light, and Wilson lay flat on his back between them, the carpet mysteriously comfortable. It was seven o'clock and dark outside. They'd finished painting in between snacks and caring for Wendy, who was fingering her stuffed puppy in her carrier, outside in the hall. House had said the paint fumes were bad for her. Wilson didn't want her in another room entirely, where she could get into trouble. She was happy in the hall.

"And now comes the fun part," said House, limping into the room. Wilson lifted his head. "Furniture assembly."

Wilson plopped his head back down. "Great."

The delivery truck had come by two hours ago with the furniture; the crib pieces were in their box out in the hall, far from Wendy. The mirror, the dresser, and the rocking chair were all ready to go, but James would have to move them in.

House stepped closer.

"Hungry?"

"Tired."

"It's only 7:15. How old _are_ you?"

Wilson flipped him off.

"Oh, that's a great attitude to teach the kid."

"She doesn't have x-ray vision."

"You never know," House warned. "Child of Wonder Boy Oncologist, she just might."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Come on," said House, rapping his cane against Wilson's side. "Don't want to keep the lady waiting."

Wilson groaned, as House turned and limped out. He suffered to sit up, pull up his knees. Insanity, he thought for the hundredth time while shaking his head. Pure insanity.

He glared at House now and again, as he pushed, pulled, and scooted the furniture into the nursery from the hallway. House lounged on the floor, feeding Wendy and smirking at Wilson.

"Having fun?"

"This is going to give me an ulcer."

"Good thing you work in a hospital then, huh?"

Wilson's eyes smoldered. He grunted and pushed at the dresser, which slid slowly along the carpet on a piece of foam it had been packed in. House continued to grin

"Daddy needs a nap," he said to Wendy. She looked at him and sucked on her bottle.

Once the dresser (which the oncologist had come to loathe) was set against the wall, Wilson had less trouble with the rocking chair and the mirror. House watched him in amusement, and he strode in and out of the room huffily, avoiding eye contact. It didn't take too long to assemble the crib, and he trotted down the stairs to the laundry room for the bedding, aware of House's twinkling eyes following his back. The elder man had to fight back a snort of laughter when Wilson returned with an armful of pink blankets and pillows.

"One word, and I'll hurt you," Wilson threatened.

"I wasn't going to say anything," House replied. And then leaning toward Wendy, once Wilson was in her room, he said, "Your daddy is so whipped."

Wilson sighed, hands on his hips, stepping out to look at House.

"It's ready."

"Are you sure? It's missing a really big poster of me."

Wilson frowned.

"Oh, that's right," House ignored. "Poster stage isn't for another thirteen years or so. Maybe we could get one for you instead."

"A porn star?"

"No. That same really big one with me on it that says 'House is my king'."

Wilson flipped him off.

"God, that's the second time today! And in front of the kid! Where are your manners? You could at least warn me first, so I can cover her eyes."

"Are you going to look at the room or not?"

House rose and slid past Wilson. He stood in the middle of the pink and white, the lamplight brighter than the light that lit the hallway from downstairs. Wilson rubbed his neck.

"It seems – bare," he said.

"It'll be fine once I buy her a bookshelf," said House. "That's for tomorrow. And we could probably use a few pictures and some big stuffed animals. This will be sweet once it's done."

He grinned in satisfaction, and Wilson smiled, arms crossed.

"And you know, the pink isn't that bad," said House.

"I was thinking maybe we could buy some stencils and paint on butterflies or something."

"Uh, no. I won't tolerate any butterflies in my house unless they're dismembered and bleeding and realistically painted."

"Butterflies don't bleed," said Wilson.

"They do if they're painted on my walls."

"Fine. Flowers."

"No."

* * *

They put Wendy in her new crib, made sure she fell asleep, and went downstairs to have waffles for dinner. They had debated over waffles or pancakes but decided that they were too lazy to make pancakes when they could just heat up some frozen Egos. They were the berry kind, too – not bad. They sat in the weak kitchen light and laughed over miscellaneous things, eating berry waffles with butter and syrup, drinking Strawberry Zinfandel, to which Wilson marveled out loud that House would ever buy white wine. The TV glowed quietly, and neither of them knew what was on.

"Can you imagine what Cameron's going to say when she finds out about this?" Wilson prompted, grinning. House laughed with a mouth full of waffle.

"I'll be forced to tell her all about our passionate affair," said House. "And how you've secretly been a woman all this time."

Wilson laughed with cheeks reddened by the wine. He was on his third glass; two identical bottles sat open on the table.

"Yes, Julie," House almost slurred. "You've been in a lesbian marriage all this time and never knew."

They both snorted and laughed out loud.

"His dick? Oh, never mind, never mind. That was just a medical illusion. Why do you think he became a doctor?"

Wilson's chest began to ache with laughter, and House drank some more wine, right out of the nearest bottle.

"Why would I pretend to be a man if I were having an affair with you?" Wilson asked breathlessly.

"Oh, don't ask that, James," House warned, darkly. "We're not sober enough to get into complicated, sexual issues."

Wilson chuckled. "Oh, God," he said, swallowing waffle. "What is Cuddy going to say?"

"About Wendy, our affair, or your sexuality?"

Wilson smirked. "Wendy."

"Do I care?" House said, sipping on his wine bottle. "Although – her expression should be pretty sweet."

Wilson sighed. "What are we going to do on Monday?"

"Run away to Mexico."

Wilson snorted and drank.

"Okay, Canada, if you prefer that."

"Seriously, House. What are we going to do? We have to work. Julie's coming home. Who's going to take care of Wendy while you're gone?"

House took a bigger gulp of wine. "Well – I was thinking of bringing her along."

Wilson choked and coughed. "And do what? Parade her around the whole hospital?"

"I don't know. We could hide her somewhere – in your office, maybe."

"Oh, sure, that'll work. Why don't we just call up a baby-sitter?"

"Who?"

"Just any baby-sitting service. There's bound to be a few in the yellow pages."

"And leave her with a complete stranger that could end up being one of those baby-shakers or a pedophile? I don't think so."

"Do you really not trust _anyone_ on the face of the earth?"

"With Wendy? No."

Wilson sighed. "Fine. But you better make fucking sure that no one sees her."

"If she's in your office, that your job. I'll have no problem sneaking her in."

Wilson didn't bother asking what House planned. He drank some more instead. They didn't speak for a while, letting the distant sounds of the TV fill their silence. They finished the wine bottles and felt the buzz, the hum in their minds. They each stared down at their empty plates after, streaks of syrup gleaming amber in the light, soiled forks naked and turned down on the white glass.

"House."

"Yeah?"

Wilson looked at House, those brown eyes filled with something that suddenly made House attentive. Silence passed for a long moment. Wilson bit his lip. House waited, blue eyes piercing.

"Thank you," said James, softly. "Thank you for this."

House stared at him for another moment more, before giving a slow nod, lips twitching. Wilson smiled faintly and dropped his gaze.

"You – uh – want a beer or something?" House asked after a second. Wilson declined, and House said he was going to have a beer. He let Wilson climb the stairs alone and drank his beer in the kitchen, taking his time because he knew that Wilson needed solitude. He drank and watched a Saturday Night Live re-run on the barely audible TV. Wilson's plate and fork remained, and Wilson's empty bottle stayed too. House stretched his legs out and sipped on his Heineken, felt himself slow down.

* * *

He stopped mid-stride when he re-entered the nursery to check on Wendy for himself and found Wilson asleep on the carpet, shoulder and side rising and falling with his breaths. House stood against his cane and looked for a moment. Wendy was soundless in her crib. The lamplight was soft on the walls. All was quiet, until the only thing House could hear was Wilson's breathing, and if he listened hard, maybe he could hear Wendy's too. He limped away, limped back in, threw down one of his pillows that he'd fetched from the bedroom, and drew a spare blanket over James. He knelt down on his good leg shakily, eased himself down onto the tight-packed carpet, lay down and wondered why the hell he was going to sleep on the floor instead of his own bed. He didn't want to wake James, and it didn't feel right to leave him here on the carpet alone for some reason.

He sighed, lying flat on his back in the same concert T-shirt he'd worn all day. His cane was motionless beside him, like an unwanted lover, an unloved wife. At the same time, Wilson slept on his other side – and Wendy beyond her father. House watched shadows and light on the ceiling and thought, listening to Wilson breathe.

This had become official. He couldn't take it back now. Wendy was staying. No matter how insane it might make him, he could never get rid of her, never get sick of her. If he did, he would never be able to walk into this room again. These walls belonged to her. They would always belong to her. And she would always belong to him and he would belong to her and they would belong to Wilson together. Although House didn't exactly look forward to the day when Julie would discover their secret, he wanted the marriage to dissolve so that James wouldn't have the weight of secrecy on him. James belonged with him and Wendy. Even though the thought contradicted everything inside him and everything people believed about him and the way he should think and feel as a heterosexual man, he couldn't deny the concept in his mind.

They belonged together now. The three of them. They weren't whole without each other. Nothing was complete anymore if one of them was missing. He silently dreaded the nights to come when Wilson wouldn't be here – dinner for two instead of three, watching TV and drinking beer alone while Wendy slept, taking care of her by himself when her real father should be around. Wendy and James shouldn't be apart. It wasn't right.

Why couldn't House just tell Wilson to file for divorce on Monday? As soon as Julie came home?

He sighed again, lips pressed together. This sucked. Why should Julie have James when he didn't even love her anymore? Okay, so maybe James told himself that he still loved her, but House wasn't stupid. The marriage was dead; even Wilson knew that. What's the point in staying married then? Why stay married when this was waiting for Wilson?

Thoughts (fears) began to race through House's mind, unnerving him – birthday parties without Wilson, school get-togethers without Wilson, dance recitals and music recitals without Wilson, nights of asking House for help with her homework instead of James. Good God. Christmas without Wilson. Thanksgiving without Wilson. How could a kid say thanks for her father when he wasn't even there? House rubbed his brow. Wilson couldn't miss out on Wendy's entire life for the sake of preserving his dead marriage or the secret.

He shut his eyes, let himself float. He never thought he'd have a family. He had never thought something like this would happen. He had imagined Wilson with children but always with a wife, a mother. Julie could probably raise Wendy a whole lot better than he could. He frowned. What if Wilson decided to offer Wendy to his wife after all and Julie accepted and House was left with this empty, pink room? He didn't think he could live without Wendy. As unhappy as he had been since Stacy left, he would be twice as unhappy if this little family was short-lived.

Stacy. Wait 'til she heard about this. It would be sweet. "Yeah, you got a husband, but I have a best friend who cares and isn't a complete idiot and a _baby_." He and Stacy had talked about children. He'd actually been keen on the idea when they had been together. He knew it was something she had always wanted and hoped for. He knew – hoped – she would be painfully jealous of him upon discovering Wendy. He was still in love with her. She was the One. Just as she had told him he was hers. (It made him wince.) But she was never coming back into the picture. He accepted that. Now, she was just hovering around to torture him. Bit maybe, if was incredibly lucky, this new situation could help him get over Stacy for good.

Wilson's breathing lulled House to sleep.

When he woke, nothing had changed: still dark, still pink, still floored. Wendy fussed. Wilson slept soundly. House groaned to himself, closed his eyes and opened them again, shifting idly before really pushing himself up. Getting up off the floor was a bitch. He groaned some more at his protesting back, his aching leg, his tired muscles. Despite it all, he managed to stand, stopped a stumble with his cane. Wendy's cranky sounds persisted from her crib. He limped around Wilson and toward the white wood.

"What is it?" he whispered, looking down at her. She didn't stop scrunching up her face, threatening tears. "You're not hungry again, are you?"

He propped his cane up against the crib and reached down to pick her up. He found himself hushing her in the soft lamplight, while his bad leg trembled under his weight. She was warm against his shoulder and his chest, one arm almost hooked around his neck. His hands must have looked awkward against her body, but they felt right for her in his mind. He held her head to his shoulder gently, hushed her again. If only he could pace around the room. Goddamn leg.

Instead, he swayed from side to side and started to hum quietly, not daring to sing and risk being caught by Wilson like this. Wendy grew quieter and quieter until she was silent, asleep on his shoulder. He swayed.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Holy shit. At LAST. So sorry for the ridiculous delay. All I can I say is that I was gone for a week and the rest of the time, I cou ldn't write any prose at all. I don't know why, nor do I know why this suddenly wrote itself. I hope it's all right. Thank you for your patience and support!

Please read and review!

* * *

Chapter 4

Monday morning. House dressed Wendy in pink-flowered, white cotton and smiled at her. He gave her to Wilson, who was already a nervous wreck by eight but calmed a little when occupied with feeding her. Meanwhile, House packed up the new, white bag with everything Wendy might possibly need before five. Wilson mumbled to her, anxiety still buzzing inside as he thought of Julie's plane landing in two hours. House nagged at him about worrying. They strapped Wendy into her car seat and threw the bag into the back. House's corvette remained in the garage and he watched his house from the passenger seat, as Wilson tensed around the steering wheel. House coaxed him into dropping by Starbucks and took Wendy out of her seat while they waited at the drive-thru. Coffee soothed Wilson; House knew him too well. The oncologist didn't buzz so much the rest of the way, sipping on his coffee and pursing his lips to blow on it through the hole periodically. House was contented with Wendy in his arms. They didn't speak, and Wilson didn't turn up the volume on House's Pink Floyd CD until they were ten minutes from the hospital.

"God, I really need a cigarette," Wilson blurted as the familiar parking lot came into view.

"You're an oncologist," said House.

"I don't care."

"Bad example."

"Screw you."

Wilson didn't have a pack of cigarettes anywhere, and House was glad. He had only seen James smoke on a few occasions out of pure nervousness. He didn't like to think about James diagnosing himself at any point down the road, especially because of something stupid, like Pall Malls. And he'd be damned if anybody exposed Wendy to second-hand smoke.

"Calm down," House murmured. They pulled into Wilson's designated spot.

"I can't," said Wilson. "We're taking her in there, and Julie's coming home before lunch. Time bomb."

The younger man didn't stop staring at the windshield, and his fingers remained curled around the steering wheel. House eyed him warily. Under no circumstances did he want a panic attack on his hands in the middle of this delicate operation.

"Calm down," he said again, his voice even and urging. "Breathe – and maybe I'll find you a smoke."

Wilson broke into a shaky laugh.

"Do you have any idea how many things could go wrong?" he said.

"Maybe caffeine wasn't the best thing for you after all," House mused. "I've got some scotch in my office, if you like. Our little secret – don't want Cuddy stealing my booze, the sleazy drunk."

Wilson let go, shut his eyes when his head hit the seat, and sighed. Wendy dozed in House's arms.

"Shit."

House said nothing. Wilson opened his eyes and blew.

"Don't worry about Julie," House said. "You haven't been home all weekend; the house is spotless."

"My office?"

"Unless you want the three stooges brainwashing your kid – yeah."

"Not to mention announcing it to the world." Wilson rubbed his eyes.

"She's good for another two hours or so," House said. "If the bottles are cold, sneak one into a lounge and use a microwave."

"Did you bring a pacifier?"

"In the left side pocket."

"She's got her puppy, right?"

"Yup."

"How the hell are we going to go unnoticed?"

"Leave that to me. Just haul your ass to your office as fast as humanly possible."

Wilson blushed with the bag slung over his shoulder, as he carried his sleeping infant in her seat. He struggled with the weight and couldn't keep up with House for once, which worked out fine for House's plan.

"All right!" he yelled, standing before the doors. "Who the hell stole my drugs?"

Everyone within hearing distance stared at him motionlessly. He didn't wait long, knowing Wilson was about to reach the door. He hurried toward the reception desk and started banging his cane on the top.

"Vicodin! Somebody get me some Vicodin in here!"

Wilson slipped in warily, while everyone else watched House disturbed.

"Cuddy! Cuddy! You rigged Pharmacy again!"

His cane bashed the counter-top noisily, as Wilson glanced nervously at the scene before the elevator doors closed. He hushed Wendy, who had opened her bleary eyes.

"Someone get me my pills! I'm dying here! My leg's about to explode! CUDDY!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Cuddy had finally appeared, brow crossed, strutting toward him in a new pair of heels.

"Ah, my gorgeous boss," said House. "Isn't she hot?" he asked the surrounding crowd loudly. Cuddy glared at him.

"What are you yelling about?"

"Why, love, Dr. Cuddy. My one, true love has been missing all weekend. Someone _stole _her from me."

"Your love?"

"Small, white chick," he said. "Sometimes answers to 'Vicky'?"

"Who would steal your pills, House?"

"I don't know – someone too cheap to buy the good stuff?"

"Have Wilson write you a new prescription, like always. Geeze." She turned away and clicked off. "And don't make anymore noise," she called. He waited for a moment before rushing to the elevators. How would Wilson get to his office alone?

He had a strange feeling as he limped onto the fourth floor – as if the ducklings below could somehow hear his footsteps. The oncology ward was fairly quiet, and the desk nurse showed no signs of surprise as she worked on something. He made his way toward Wilson's office and tried to keep his head down. This floor always had an inhospitable air to it.

"Did you make it?"

Wilson looked up at him with parted lips.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Barely."

House relaxed against his cane.

"You were insane," Wilson remarked.

"Got you through, didn't I? Cuddy gave me heat. This is going to be a great day."

"You don't have to tell me."

Wilson sipped on his coffee again, now calmer having gotten Wendy to his office without trouble. She slept, and House watched.

"I'll check on her every hour or so," said Wilson. "I think that's the best I can do."

"I can pop in," said House, blue eyes set on the baby, while a million possible incidents circulated through his mind. Most of them bordered on the ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself. Thank God she couldn't walk yet.

"Got a key?"

"Yeah."

"I'm locking up. Wouldn't want some nurse wandering in."

"Keep the blinds drawn," House warned. He chewed on his lip. Wilson looked at Wendy now too. He sighed.

"Do we really have leave her?"

House didn't reply. Wilson sipped his coffee.

* * *

"You're late," said Foreman. Cameron sat at the table, cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Chase had his legs propped up and the latest crossword puzzle in his lap. He gnawed on his pen and leaned on the back legs of his chair. Foreman had his hands on his hips but didn't look anything like Wilson.

"Happy day to you too," House said, limping in from his office doorway.

"Starbucks?"

Cameron noticed the cup in his hand.

"I felt adventurous." He stopped near the whiteboard. "Now, who's got a case?"

"Thirty-five year old female, joint pain, fatigue, shortness of breath, and rhinorrhea."

"Rhinorrhea?" House echoed, taking the file from Foreman. "It's July."

"She thought she had a cold," Foreman said. "But it's been three weeks and no improvement, even with drugs."

"It's definitely not a cold then," House muttered. "No other symptoms?"

"None at the moment."

"Great. Draw some blood and make sure she has a never-ending supply of Kleenex."

He tossed the file on the table and began to turn away.

"Wait," Chase called, settling his chair back on all four legs. "We can't just leave the rhinorrhea untreated. It could damage her nasal cartilage."

House gave him a bored stare. "Fine. Surgery. But we're not treating her runny nose. We're treating whatever's causing it."

He slipped into his office and plopped into his chair with a sigh, didn't notice Cameron look at him suspiciously. Chase got to his feet and followed Foreman out, but she didn't budge for a while. Something was going on. He had never stopped for coffee before; he usually drank her coffee. And he was never late. He was usually the first one here. She decided to push suspicion aside, however, when he picked up his Game boy.

He fiddled around until Cameron was gone and threw the Game boy aside once she disappeared down the hall, not bothering to switch it off. He got to his feet and fled his office, heading for the nearest elevator with silent speed. He didn't care if it had only been thirty-two minutes. He needed to know Wendy was still alive and well.

When he reached Wilson's office, it took too long for him to find the key, shove it in the hole, and turn it correctly. He breathed easy when he found Wendy still asleep, just as he and Wilson had left her. He didn't know what else he had expected.

It was dark except for the weak light of the halls outside, and House kept it that way. He stood in the near-dark for a while and just looked at her – the most perfect human being he had ever encountered, even if it was only because she hadn't had a chance to screw up yet. He felt his lips curve, as he leaned against his cane.

Wilson's nerves weren't helped when he found his office door unlocked, when he had been sure he'd locked it before. He deflated a bit when he recognized House's silhouette. House looked at him, eyes hidden in the shadows.

"Beat you to it," House said.

"It hasn't even been an hour."

"Close enough."

They paused. Wilson had his hands on his hips again. House could see the white lab coat now, though he didn't remember Wilson putting it on.

"We can't keep this up," the oncologist said.

"Not forever. She starts school in about four years."

"God."

They paused again. No one bothered turning on a light.

"Lunch here then?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah. We can bring it up."

"The rumor mill is going to spin out of control."

"Oh, yeah," House said. "Nothing's better than office sex with a side of meatloaf."

"You always have a Reuben."

"You could have the meatloaf."

"I wouldn't have the meatloaf. And they're not even making it today."

"I do not always have a Reuben. I'm not that boring."

"Well, I don't consider chips out of the vending machine to be an actual meal," said Wilson.

"You're just jealous of my girlish figure."

"It fits your new role so well."

House flipped him off.

"All you need to do is steal Cuddy's breasts," Wilson continued.

"I'm sorry to kill your sick fantasies, but I'm not really a transsexual."

"Some hormones could change that."

"You already have a wife to screw, what do you want?"

Wilson blushed, even though House couldn't see it in the dark.

"Hah. So I _am_ a better woman than Julie."

He limped to the door.

* * *

As he turned the corner and approached his office, Cameron strode up alongside him.

"Low red blood cell count, elevated white cell and platelet count."

"Inflammation, huh?"

"Elevated sedimentation rate, too."

"Interesting," House murmured, nearing the glass door. Cameron followed once he swung it open. "Give me a CT scan and see what comes up. Where are Chase and Foreman? Looking at porn in the bathroom? I did hire them for a reason, you know."

He sat back in his chair with expectant, blue eyes. She stared at him, sighed through pursed lips, and left. His eyes moved out of focus. His hand had not moved from the cane. He pushed his legs up on his desk and picked up his Game boy again. Dead. He hadn't expected anything else.

Not two hours later, during which he had checked on Wendy again, Cuddy finally arrived.

"Where have you been?"

"You have that same delicate look on your face from this morning," House observed. "Like someone shoved a lemon down your throat and forgot to add sugar."

"There's still a clinic around here, you know."

"I've got a case, Cuddy," he said, fingers blindly pushing the game keys.

"Which you're not currently working on," she said.

"I'm letting it stew. Haven't you have ever cooked before?"

"Clinic, House. Now."

"Well, someone has a case of the Mondays."

She glowered and strutted out, having thrown a file on his desk. He sighed.

* * *

"I've been having these cramps in my arm lately."

The woman had short, dyed hair. She must've been in her thirties, like his new patient. He took her blood pressure routinely and scribbled it down on her chart.

"Any strenuous labor?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I just do the dishes and chase my kid around all day."

"How old?"

"Three," she grinned. "He's so energetic."

"Maybe he's got ADD."

She stopped and looked at him, as he felt her arm.

"Then again, maybe you're just one of the thousands of moms who lets her kid have too much sugar."

She blinked.

"Go home, use Tylenol, and come back if you want sedatives for the kid."

The door squealed when he pulled it open and she watched him, stunned, as he left without looking back.

* * *

He returned to his office with a clear conscience and found Cameron and Chase waiting for him.

"CT scan was clear," the Australian said.

"She's scheduled for surgery in about an hour," added Cameron.

"Great," said House. "Go find a hobby while you wait."

He switched off the Game boy on his desk and slipped out again, leaving them confused. Wilson was waiting for him inside the cafeteria, not yet in line.

"So are they serving your meatloaf or not?" House asked.

"I think it's pasta today," said Wilson, as they both walked to the end of the line, picking up trays.

"Cold or hot?"

"Cold."

"It might be safe then. Who knows – may even be good."

They slid along, barely glancing at anything in front of them, behind the glass.

"I'll have the soup," House told the serving lady. "It's vegetable," he murmured to Wilson. "Best shit they make, besides the Reuben."

Wilson smirked and asked the woman for the pasta salad with a side of bread, as she handed House his soup.

"They use the good foam," House said to Wilson. "They know I'd sue their asses for everything their worth if I sustained a burn injury."

"You would sue the hospital cafeteria?" Wilson asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I would sue your mother."

House grabbed a handful of those individually packaged crackers at the register, as Wilson paid.

"That's all you're eating?" the oncologist asked, eyeing the hot soup.

"What is it with you and wanting to fatten me up? Going to sacrifice me to Cuddy?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He had always worried over House's eating habits since the infarction. Sure, the man wasn't anorexic, but it always seemed like he ate as little as possible within the realm of 'healthy'.

Wilson almost sat at an empty table, but House didn't stop in front of him. Then Wilson remembered Wendy in his office and followed House as if he hadn't forgotten. Wilson carried House's tray because he didn't want the soup to spill. House jerked along with Wilson's tray in his free hand, the curly-cue noodles quivering with each step. Once situated in Wilson's office, Wilson bought them sodas from the vending machine in the hall. He liked Sprite, and House always had root beer.

"So this hasn't been a total disaster," House said, spooning soup into his mouth.

"The day isn't over yet," Wilson warned, spearing noodles with his plastic fork.

House picked up another spoon and offered Wendy cold applesauce. She didn't take it right away but accepted once House let the tip dab at her lip.

"You sure she's not allergic to that?" asked Wilson.

"Who's allergic to applesauce?"

Wilson shrugged and ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth. House let Wendy swallow and dipped a cracker into his soup.

"So what's your new case?"

"Thirty-five year old woman, anemic, elevated sedimentation rate/white blood cell/platelet count, joint pain, and rhinorrhea."

"Rhinorrhea?"

They both filled their mouths.

"Set for surgery this afternoon," House confirmed. Wilson wrinkled his nose. "CT scan was clear."

"Hm."

House fed Wendy more applesauce. Her bib was already a little stained. She bobbed her legs.

"So no call from Julie yet?" House asked.

"Nope," said Wilson. "She only got in about an hour ago."

House slurped on his soup and then sipped his root beer.

"This is actually pretty good," said Wilson, in reference to his pasta salad. He took another bite of bread.

"Wonders never cease," said House. He fed Wendy more applesauce.

"No suspicious people?"

"Cameron commented on my Starbucks visit."

"Women are intuitive," said Wilson.

"Or maybe just observant."

"You should be careful."

"No shit. So should you."

"People in my department aren't so interested in my fine details."

"Must be the chemo."

"You know – I've never wanted a day to be over this badly," said Wilson, sitting back in his chair, leaving a few noodles in his bowl. He sipped his Sprite.

"Why? All we have to look forward to afterward is dinner and sitting around until you absolutely have to go home."

House sipped on his root beer, wiped Wendy's chin, and fed her again.

Wilson scoffed. "Home."

"Still want a cigarette?" House asked.

Wilson grinned and rolled his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Damn. FINALLY! Sorry for taking so damn long with this chapter. I hope it's all right. Thanks to all my supporters. Please read and review and remember: no slash intended!

Listen to **"Baba O'Reilly" by the Who**, while you read, if you can.

* * *

Chapter 5

They stay late – until the ducklings are gone and Cuddy retires to her office for good. They spend about an hour locked up, reading magazines, playing game boy, and watching re-runs. House makes Wilson smile when he actually forgets himself and baby-speaks to Wendy.

"I may be a cripple, but I can still kick your ass with my cane," says House, when he catches Wilson smiling at him. The oncologist keeps his mouth shut and looks back to his two-month old issue of _Time. _Around five o'clock, he creeps out to make sure the halls are clear. He's thankful the elevator is nearby. House's lips twitch in amusement, as he limps steadily out of Wilson's office, while his friend scuttles into the elevator with their precious cargo.

"Is that fun?" he asks, as the doors close with a _ding_. "Making a new record for hall crossing speed?"

Wilson gives him a bored stare. Wendy grabs at her stuffed puppy and looks into space with her big, brown eyes. Wilson glances down at her and thinks he might burst; she's so cute in her little bonnet.

"I can't believe you bought that thing," House grumbles. "What is this, the Oregon Trail?"

"It's cute," Wilson protests.

"Yeah, if we were stupid enough to be migrating to the West Coast in a wagon."

But House does think it's cute.

* * *

When they drive home, they don't speak, but House is thinking of Wilson and Wendy as he watches the passing world through his window. How can you be with someone so much of the time and still think of them constantly?

The silence that fills Wilson's Mercedes isn't silence at all. It's another kind of song, another kind of music that can only come out of real love. Maybe House has been wrong to stop believing. It's too early to get comfortable, to stop considering the possibility that it all might be a dream. He knows it in his head – but his heart really likes believing. He's beginning to think he'd been living without it all these years.

"Keep driving."

"Huh?"

Wilson looks over at him for the first time. They're only ten minute from House's place.

"Keep driving," House says.

And Wilson doesn't ask questions. He just keeps driving, and House keeps thinking. Wendy is falling asleep, and House almost envies the way she can't tell the difference between the ocean and the car.

He doesn't count the minutes. He doesn't bother thinking about extra gas running out. He just knows its twilight, and his heart is full. He knows Wilson has turned his cell phone off because Julie is home, and they will have dinner together as a late close to their first weekend together.

He doesn't know how long Wilson drives. He doesn't think his friend is paying attention to where he's going either. But something new occurs to him. It doesn't matter where he is anymore, as long as Wilson and Wendy are with him. With them, anywhere is fine.

Eventually, Wilson pulls into House's driveway. The Mercedes comes to a stop, Wilson shuts it down, and they don't stop sitting still. Wendy sleeps lightly.

* * *

They decide on macaroni and cheese. Wilson doesn't bother calling Julie; she knows he works late on Mondays. House limps around in the kitchen quietly, while Wilson half-heartedly wiggles a rainbow-caterpillar rattle in front of Wendy. She watches it with glassy eyes and reaches out every now and then. Wilson looks at her with his heart drooping. He tries to smile but he can't.

The evening news is on TV, providing the necessary background noise, but when House stops in the middle of his kitchen, it is to watch Wilson, not the TV. He can feel his body change, anticipating the end of their short-lived domestic life together. His heart slows down, his blood follows suite, his limbs fills up with lead. Wilson is leaving.

For the first time in their friendship, House really feels that Wilson is leaving. What will he do? What will he do in this empty house with his best friend's baby? How can he deal with it alone half the time? Wilson can only leave Julie eating dinner by herself so many times before she gets suspicious.

"You want peas?" he asks.

"I don't think I'm very hungry," Wilson murmurs, his hand rocking the caterpillar loosely.

"I'm cooking. You'll eat," House says. But he really did feel for Wilson. "Peas or no peas?"

"None."

"Good. I like my mac n' cheese plain."

Wilson's lips faintly curl, and he doesn't know why. _Rattle, rattle, rattle_, went the caterpillar. It's red smile and happy, blue eyes were unchanging. Wilson feels his chest clench. He bites his lip, but Wendy suddenly grows fuzzy. His heart hurts. He loves his baby, but he hates failing, marriages included.

House peers over his shoulder, ceasing to stir their dinner. He can't see the details of Wilson's face from the stove, but his friend's posture is like a note, saying 'goodbye, it's over, it hurts like hell.' House wants to comfort him – but what can he do? This is Wilson's choice. And House sucks at being sympathetic.

"Beer?" he calls.

"No," Wilson says himself. House knows he doesn't want any regardless. He knows what plagues Wilson is that hollow feeling in his chest – and that can't be helped by any physical means, booze included. He turns away from the living room with his head hung a little lower and stirs his macaroni and cheese idly. He focuses on the circles, pouring the pasta into two bowls, shutting off the stove. That rattle keeps shaking.

He hobbles into the living room and plops down onto the couch, next to Wilson. His friend takes his bowl wearily, and House sits back and props his legs up on the coffee table without any sign he had noticed Wilson's mood. He shovels a spoonful of food into his mouth and watches the news, but his heart can never ignore Wilson.

"What's wrong?" he asks, as if he'd just realized his friend hadn't moved or touched his food. Wilson doesn't answer for a minute, and House hits the 'mute' button. Wilson finally gives a small shrug.

"What does that mean?" House presses. Wilson sits still for another minute, looking sorrowfully down at the carpet. "Wilson. Talk to me."

Wilson squeezes his eyes shut, and House feels something bubble up inside him.

"Nothing," the oncologist breathes, finally taking hold of his spoon.

"Bullshit."

Wilson doesn't answer. He moves the spoon around, before making himself eat a little. Already, he feels like throwing up.

"James..." House warns. Wilson sighs.

"What?"

"Talk to me. You're not all right."

"Did you expect me to be?"

"Only after a few days? Yeah. I think most people would be."

"That's a lie. No one's okay with leaving their kid."

"Is this just about her?"

Wilson looks at House at last, and House wants to shudder at those brown eyes. Wilson purses his lips, his pain obvious.

"You don't have to go back to Julie," says House.

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because she's my wife."

"And Wendy's your daughter."

They stare at each other for a moment, before breaking away again. House puts the sound back on the TV, and Wilson eats the rest of his dinner.

"Would it be irresponsible to stop at a bar on my way home and get smashed?" he asks.

"Yeah," said House. "Daddies don't do that sort of thing. Besides, you have no legitimate reason to get smashed."

"No legitimate reason? You're kidding."

"Just because something sucks doesn't make it a reason to do something stupid."

"You would."

"That's your excuse?"

"Almost as good as the whole 'I'm in pain' excuse you have for pill-popping."

House doesn't have a comeback for that one, and he isn't about to get angry and scare Wilson away to do the stupid things he's imagining.

"What are we going to do tomorrow?" Wilson changes the subject. "We can't keep sneaking around."

"Why not? Hearing the gossip is always amusing."

Wilson's eyes are weary and sad against House's, without the energy for a squabble.

"We've got not choice, unless you want to tell the truth," says House.

"Call a sitter."

"No."

"I think we should end this."

House sighs in aggravation and throws his bowl on the table, startling Wendy to jump. Wilson takes hold of her hand to reassure her, and she remains quiet.

"How can you give up so easily?" House questions.

"There's nothing to give up. It's time we wake up from our little fantasy. We had our weekend. Now it's over."

"It's not over," House growls. "You just too afraid to do something you've never done before."

"Oh, of course, you know so much about that."

"Yeah, I do."

"It's not your call. She's mine."

House stares steadily at Wilson with cold, blue eyes. He didn't think Wilson would strike him like that.

"I don't care," he says, his gaze unrelenting. "I'm not letting you ruin her life."

"You've ruined yours; how do you expect to prevent it from happening to someone else?"

House heaves himself up and hobbles away, under Wilson's watch. He picks up his cell phone off the kitchen counter.

"Hi, Julie? This is Greg House. Your husband is over here because he doesn't want to go home when we just got a –"

"No!" Wilson screams, halfway through House's sentence. He leaps up from the couch and lunges for House's phone, snatching it away and flipping it off. "Are you _insane_? What the hell were you thinking?"

"You can't give up if there's nothing to hide."

"Jesus Christ, House, you could've ruined my marriage!"

"It's already dead, James. Why don't you accept that?"

"Go to hell."

Wendy's shrill cry breaks them away from each other. House is the one to move and pick her up, tossing his cane aside. She cries for a minute or two, as he tries to hush her and staggers once, prompting Wilson to go to him. House bounces Wendy a little, trying to quiet her.

"See what you did?" he mutters.

"I wouldn't have had to do anything if you hadn't called Julie."

"And if you would snap out of your self-pity, I wouldn't have had to call."

Wendy stops, the blood fading back to normal in her face. House holds her, and Wilson sighs before taking her. He holds her as gently as House had, looking at her intently.

"I'll see you again," he says. House bows his head. Wilson kisses her and holds her close, shutting his eyes. She looks blankly at House, and he peers up at her, wishing he could explain. Wilson straightens and lays her back in her carrier. He picks up House's cane and hands it to his friend, who thanks him.

And suddenly, House feels alone for the first time in years. The TV noise carries on, Wendy is quiet, and Wilson is gone, leaving him to stand against his cane in the living room.

* * *

Wilson passes three bars before stopping at the fourth, and he figures he can later say that he had shown some resistance. Maybe that would count for something. Even when he sits down to order his first drink, part of him feels a pull toward "home," if he can still call Julie's house that. But he stays, and the bartender gives him a tall glass of Bud Light. He gets halfway through it when he asks the guy for a cigarette. Wilson hasn't smoked in years – not since House's infarction. He may not have gotten his relief that morning, but he is now. He had known on his way to work there would be a cigarette today.

He inhales his first dose and blows out the excess smoke with a sigh, closing his eyes. He sips on his beer. No one except House knows how well he can blend in at bars.

After the third glass, his cell phone rings. He ignores it; he's already got a buzz so high, he's borderline drunk. He orders another to finish himself off. His cell phone rings against his leg, blinks red and blue, but no one seems to hear it or care. Julie's waiting on the home phone for him to pick up, exasperated because of Greg's strange call two hours earlier and because it's 11 o'clock with no sign of James.

His brain is muddled, as he works on that fourth glass, and he can barely remember to smoke his cigarette in between mouthfuls. His vision is hazy, and there's a strange sensation at the base of his skull. He inhales, exhales, sways with his eyes closed.

Why is he doing this to himself? It's his choice. He doesn't have to go home. He doesn't have to lie to Julie or be away from Wendy half the time. Hell, he didn't have to take Wendy in the first place. It's all his choice. It was his choice to stop at this bar and get drunk. Now what will he choose?

He leaves ten-dollar bills on the bar top and staggers away, foam still clinging to the inside of his deserted glass. No one stops him because no one cares. No one cares... except House.

But he doesn't call House. He fumbles for the right key and gets in his car. He's got to go home. He's got to do the right thing.

"Hello?"

House doesn't sound happy. It's 12:30. He was zoning out in front of the TV, and Wendy had finally fallen asleep.

"House?"

He stops when he hears Wilson – with a tone that screams bad news.

"James?"

"Please come get me."

God, it almost sounds like his friend's about to cry.

"Give me that God damn phone!" Julie screams in the background. "Why the fuck are you always calling him? You can't expect him to bail you out every time we have marital problems. It's none of his damn business."

That is enough for House.

"I'm coming."

He apologizes to Wendy, as he straps her into the car seat. The nearest streetlight glows as he limps around the car to the driver's seat. He puts the top up and wishes James had called him sooner.

When he pulls into the Wilson driveway, James is leaning against the wall, trying to leave, and Julie is standing in the doorway screaming. House throws his door open and hauls himself out, trying to hurry toward James.

"That's all you're good for is running away!" Julie screeches at her husband. "I come home after being gone all weekend, and you show up at fucking midnight, **drunk**!"

"Jesus, Wilson," House mutters, as James staggers into his chest. House almost loses his balance but doesn't, managing to hold his friend up with one arm.

"Just get me out of here," Wilson blubbers. "Please."

"Okay," says House, in his rare, soothing tone. "Come on, then."

They begin to approach the 'vette, when Julie dares to step out into the moonlight.

"House! Don't you take him away from here! This is his problem, his marriage, and he's got to deal with it. You can't bail him out of life!"

"Watch me," House replies, turning his head for his blue eyes to blaze at her. She says no more, as he helps Wilson into shotgun and limps back over to the driver's side. Wendy cries out, and his heart stops even though he doesn't.

"Is that a baby?" Julie questions loudly. "What are you doing with a baby?"

He backs out into the street without answering.

"House! You son of a bitch! Give me back my husband!"

He sticks his arm out the window and flips her off, before speeding away.

* * *

"I seem to remember telling you _not_ to get drunk off your ass," he says to Wilson, as he drives. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough."

"I'm sorry," Wilson says, his eyes shut and his head back on the rest. House hushes Wendy.

"Did it make you feel better?"

"No."

"And you've been smoking. You smell like you got laid by a whole case of Pall Malls."

"I told you I needed a cigarette."

"If you get lung cancer, I'm kicking your ass twice as hard, now that Wendy's here."

"Thanks."

"You know, it felt good flipping off your wife."

Wilson groans.

"Dump her, man," says House. "The chick in the back is way hotter."

And Wilson actually smiles. God, what would he do without House?

"Thanks for coming," he says.

"Hey, I wouldn't want my unofficial lunch-payer to be on the morning news as a murder victim."

"Really, though. Thanks. I – I can't handle her. I was about to leave on my own."

"That would've been the most dumbass choice ever," House says seriously. "The fact that you even drove yourself home from the bar warrants a sensible cane-beating."

"Sorry."

"Just get your ass inside. It's 1 AM, and we've got work tomorrow. _Joy_."

"Shit."

"That hangover's going to be orgasmic."

Wilson groans again and stumbles out of the car. House gets Wendy and follows him inside. The oncologist collapses on the couch, and the TV is still on. House kicks the door closed with his good leg and limps over to his recliner.

"I would ask you to put Wendy to sleep, since I hate using the stairs more than is necessary, but since you're drunker than Bill Clinton was when he picked Monica for his scandal whore, I think I'll do it myself."

Wilson waves him off, and House starts on his ascent to the nursery. Fifteen minutes later, he grunts as he comes back down, and Wilson looks like he may be asleep, with his arm flung over his eyes.

"James," says House, once settled in his recliner. "We have to tell people."

Wilson whines without moving his arm.

"We can't keep sneaking around. Especially when you're hung over. Besides, I've got a problem with lying."

"Omitting information."

"Same difference."

"We can't. It'll ruin everything."

"It's our personal life. No one else's problem. If they don't like it, who cares? Telling them only changes the way we function on a day to day basis."

Wilson sighs. "Fine," he resigns. "But don't say I didn't warn you. You going to turn off the TV?"

"Nah. I like listening to it until I fall asleep."

"You're not going up to bed?"

"And climbing the stairs again? I don't think so. My chair is just fine."

Wilson says no more, and House only looks at him for a second, before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: God. I finally got through this chapter.

I'm sorry it took so damn long. I'm sorry it's not as long as it should be. I'm sorry it's kind of pointless. Meh. I would just give up because now my flow is all screwed and it's going to suck -- but I don't like not completing fics.

Listen to **"Fly Me to the Moon" by Frank Sinatra,** while reading.

No slash! Thanks for the patience and support.

P.S. **MOVIE RECS:** **Cinderalla Man** and **Four Brothers**. Wonderful. I actually wrote some _Four Brothers_ fic recently, too.

_

* * *

_

_Chapter 6_

* * *

House found himself wincing, as he limped into his bathroom at 7 AM to find Wilson on his knees. 

"Don't hold back, James," he said. The oncologist gave another gagging sound in response. House hobbled downstairs and fetched the paper from the driveway, pausing for a moment to survey the neighborhood. He sighed to himself before going inside, tossed the paper on the kitchen counter, and filled a pot with water to boil for Wendy's bottle.

"Wendy's in her crib," he called out, loud enough for Wilson to hear from upstairs. "Bring her down here."

He had changed her first thing when he woke up, feeling another new sense of overwhelming relief to find she was alive and well. He had never taken SIDS seriously before. Now he wished he could stop sleeping, just to watch her through the night.

She gurgled happily in Wilson's arms, as he reached the bottom of the stairs and grimaced at House.

"I'm never drinking again," he remarked, as she cooed.

"You say that now. Just wait until Friday when we'll celebrate surviving our first set of weekdays."

"Breakfast?"

"You up to it?" House asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Got any raisin bran?"

"Raisin bran? What am I, sixty?"

"Close."

House glowered at him. "Don't listen to him, Wendy. He's hung over because he married Medusa."

"Who would be a lot more pissed off if she knew about you," Wilson said to the baby, looking fondly at her.

"Not even a week since you arrived, and you're already the other woman. You're good, Wendy. You're too good," said House. Wilson smiled. "And your daddy? Well, he's just a bad, bad man. Don't marry him."

Wilson rolled his eyes, as House turned his attention back to the bottle on the stove.

* * *

"Only 8:30, we're making good time," said Wilson, as they packed into the Mercedes again, after one of the most pleasant breakfasts either one of the doctors had had in recent years. It wasn't anything special, but there was something about sitting in one's kitchen in the bright morning light coming from the window and drinking orange juice. 

"You know, I'm starting to miss my car," House commented.

"You can drive it, if you want."

"Show up separately? What would that do to Wendy's fragile psyche?"

Wilson shook his head and walked around the car to the driver's side, Wendy already strapped into the back seat. House finally took the 'vette out of the garage.

"Did you miss me, baby?" he said, as he pulled out into the driveway, after Wilson left. The engine rumbled. "I thought so."

House squinted around at the town, as he followed closely behind Wilson. The wind was cool against his skin, and the red paint gleamed bolder than anything else around. He wondered how people would react. He wondered what the hell Wilson was going to do about his marriage. He thought of what Stacy would say when she heard all about this.

He thought about the rest of his life and what he had been planning for it. He realized he had never given it any thought. He lived day by day, but he had never bothered to think about another thirty years. Maybe he hadn't intended to live that long.

But things might be different. It might become worthwhile.

Had he really thought to leave Wilson alone? He frowned as the car cruised along without stopping. Had he really thought he would abandon his only friend whenever he got tired of life? He knew up until now that he had been Wilson's most cherished figure, that their friendship was the one relationship Wilson could say had not been a total failure. House might be self-centered, but he did care for Wilson. He loved Wilson. It may be an unspoken thing, but it was still truth.

Why, then, had he never given any thought to where his life was going?

It had to end somewhere. He had never considered how or where. He had never mapped out an estimated time frame. He had just – forced himself to get up every day and go back to work. But hadn't he known it couldn't just go on like that forever? At some point, it's not worth living for anymore. At some point, it's time to retire.

But what did he have to retire to?

Maybe he would have something now.

* * *

The oncologist waited in the parking lot for two minutes, until House swerved into the space next to Wilson's car. 

"Get her bag for me, will you?"

Wendy was still strapped into her car seat at Wilson's feet.

"Are you ready for your debut?" House asked her. She bounced her legs, and he smiled. Wilson rubbed his neck and mentally apologized to God for not going to temple enough, before asking for mercy.

"Morning," House said brightly, as he followed Wilson past the front desk, carrying Wendy's bag. The nurse seated there eyed him in confusion, as Wilson hurried toward the elevator and avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone.

"Did you find that in my closet?" House asked, looking at the tie Wilson had on. They were the only ones in the elevator, thanks to House pushing the close button.

"Drawer," said Wilson, looking up at the ceiling.

"Since when do I own ties?"

"Divine providence."

Wendy made noises of pleasure, and House smiled down at her.

"She digs our hang out place."

"We do spend too much time in this elevator," said Wilson.

"It's fun going up and down," said House. Wilson gave him a skeptical look.

* * *

They found House's office and meeting room empty, much to Wilson's relief, and dumped her bag next to his desk. Wilson motioned to put her down, but House took her in the seat before it touched the top of his desk. He smirked at the oncologist as he turned toward the adjoining door to the conference room, and Wilson slumped. 

"Your fans are here," he said to Wendy, as he spotted the ducklings fast approaching. They didn't get far before they noticed House's companion and stopped where they stood.

"What is _that_?" asked Foreman, looking at Wendy.

"It's a baby, you idiot," House said.

"Obviously. Why do _you_ have it?"

Cuddy slipped in, and House jerked, blinking melodramatically at her pink suit jacket and skirt.

"You paged me? What is it?"

"The kids here wouldn't believe me when I described your outfit today."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, putting her hands on her hips. House's eyes twinkled.

"Now that we've got the whole hen coop here, I can get this over with. People – this is Wendy." He indicated the baby, and Wilson rubbed his neck. "She's Wilson's baby, and she's staying at my place. Now, back to the patient --"

"What?" Cuddy exclaimed.

"You're kidding," Foreman smirked. Cameron blanched. Chase looked at Wilson, who was fidgeting in agony.

"I kid you not, Ghetto Man. She's got Wilson's DNA, and I turned my guest room into a pink wonderland."

"Dr. Wilson, you never mentioned your wife was pregnant," Chase remarked.

"Oh, but Julie has no idea," House said pleasurably.

"You can't be serious," said Cuddy. "Wilson?"

"We're – uh – figuring it out," he said.

"You're actually going to take partial responsibility for a baby?" Foreman piped, not interested with Wilson's obvious infidelity.

"Babies are cake," said House. "It's the idiots that most of them grow up into that are a pain in the ass. At least I get to make sure this one doesn't turn out to be useless."

"Wilson, are you sure House is a person you can trust with your kid?" Chase asked.

"Uh – I – um."

"Dr. House will be fine," Cuddy said suddenly, surprising everyone. She met Wilson's gaze, and he thanked her silently. She strutted toward Wendy and leaned over to smile at her.

"She's a beautiful baby, Dr. Wilson," she remarked.

"Thank you," Wilson blushed.

"All right, Cuddy. We have work to do," House reminded.

"Don't forget clinic duty, House. I can get you a nurse to watch the baby."

"A nurse? I might as well hand her over to the park hobo."

"You won't get out of work, House."

She left, and he sighed in annoyance.

"I've got work to do, too," said Wilson, making for the door.

"I'll see you later," House replied.

"Are you sleeping with him?" Cameron asked loudly, once Wilson was gone.

"Cameron!" Chase chided. House smirked.

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? That's the oldest rumor at this hospital. I'll let you figure it out, though. Let your imagination run _wild_." He bugged out his eyes, and Foreman couldn't help but grin and shake his head. Cameron, on the other hand, wasn't laughing.

* * *

Wilson spent the morning trying to ignore the whispers and looks from staff members, the smirks from other doctors, the evil eyes from the receptionists. He forced himself to stay away from House's office the whole time, trusting – hoping, really – that Wendy was being properly looked after. He told himself she most likely was. Despite what Cuddy had said, House wouldn't miss the opportunity to use Wendy as an excuse to do virtually nothing. 

"Dr. Wilson? Your wife is on line two."

Wilson looked up from his paperwork at his secretary that had popped in.

"Tell her I'm unavailable," said Wilson.

"Should I take a message?"

"No... She's got nothing pleasant to say."

She gave him a confused look but nodded and left Wilson sighing to himself. He didn't know how long he could avoid dealing with Julie, but he was going to stall as long as possible.

* * *

Cameron approached House's office sometime around 11 o'clock with an update on the patient's condition but stopped in utter amazement when she saw that House was dancing around with his cane to Frank Sinatra and lip syncing to Wendy. Cameron's mouth came apart, and she left without a word after watching for a minute or two. 

"He's gone totally insane," she commented to Chase and Foreman in the lab. "He's – _happy_."

"What are the odds?" Foreman scoffed.

"What I don't get is that it's not even his kid," Chase said.

"Exactly. He doesn't have full responsibility, Wilson does. If it were his kid, he'd probably just be even more stressed out and unbearable."

"But it's not like he's just a by stander in the situation. He's taking some responsibility. He's going to actually commit to helping Wilson out."

"That's why he's happy," said Cameron, realizing it out loud. "He's finally got something worthwhile in his personal life."

Foreman and Chase shared a look.

* * *

"Wendy – is irresistible," said House, as he and Wilson sat down in the cafeteria for lunch. Some nurses smiled at him as they passed by, and for once, he smiled back. "We're pimpin' now, man. Babies bring in all the ladies." 

Wilson sighed and glanced up at him dubiously. House popped open a bag of chips and munched.

"Cuddy's given her approval. Foreman thinks it's a joke. Chase is indifferent, and Cameron is totally upset. The nurses think it's a conspiracy, and your reputation as a naughty husband is totally out in the open."

House hit the carrier again so it would rock, and Wendy drooled happily, as she played with her caterpillar rattle. Wilson sipped on his water.

"See – it wasn't that bad," said House jovially.

"Right."

"Cameron thinks we're lovers."

Wilson snorted into his salad. House grinned.

"God," said Wilson, once he swallowed. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her Jews are great in bed."

Wilson face-palmed.


End file.
